


Get My Pretty Name (Out of Your Mouth)

by BrujaBanter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Background Wolfstar, Background/implied Ginny Weasley/Harry Potter, Blame Billie Eilish, Dirty Talk, F/F, Femslash, Gay Bar, Nipple Play, Oh My God So Much Dirty Talk, Queer Ginny, Queer Tonks, Sexual Content, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27887128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrujaBanter/pseuds/BrujaBanter
Summary: It's been years since Nymphadora Tonks and Ginny Weasley have seen each other. They've both had babies and marriages and more than a few regrets. But a chance meeting turns into the perfect opportunity for Ginny to start learning what she REALLY wants.ORBillie Eilish and rain-hikes inspire some femslash and a whole lot of dirty talk.
Relationships: Nymphadora Tonks/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	Get My Pretty Name (Out of Your Mouth)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RuinsPlume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuinsPlume/gifts).



> Gifted to RuinsPlume, in recognition for inspiring my own Queer!Tonks/Queer!Ginny and in thanks for creating beautiful things.

The rain always makes Tonks horny. Wet and dark and droplets onto her eyelashes when she looks up, watches the drops fall, watches them drip onto her face and down, over her jaw, down her neck, in between her breasts.

Wet. It’s such a fucking cliché.

It’s a leather jacket kind of Sunday rain – a faux-leather jacket kind of Sunday rain – no umbrella and no raincoat and the dampness won’t damage the leather (which is plastic) which is more durable than skin. She slips her arms into the sleeves (which are – as she gets older or the jacket does – becoming uncomfortably tight) and checks that she has her wallet and her wand before heading out.

She stuffs her fists into her pockets as she walks, defying the weather and the patriarchy and passersby by letting her tits hang out of her crop top and the rain pelt her right in the face. It sticks to her eyelashes and the coconut butter on her lips and she’ll charm it away later, charm it dry, but for now

Wet.

The old wooden door chimes when she opens it and the barkeep looks her direction, recognizing her and greeting her with a quick, familiar nod. She takes a seat on the barstool closest to the door and surveys her surroundings. The bar is near empty, just sad, lonely dykes with no family to cook a Sunday roast for – or maybe she’s projecting. Teddy is with Remus and Sirius for the weekend and, as he gets closer and closer to creeping adolescence, Tonks doesn’t mind the break. Straight as an arrow, that boy is – despite the best attempts of all three of his parents – and he’s recently eating her out of house and home.

She doesn’t recognize the two middle-aged women sat at the small bistro table in the corner, sipping dark beers and sharing a plate of chips. They’re cute, each enjoying their own book and locking eyes only briefly in between pages. Tonks wonders if she’d like that, someone to share an afternoon and a snack with. Truth be told, she thought she’d know the answer by now.

Then there’s someone sitting hunched over at the other end of the bar, hair hidden by a dark green beanie and fingers making shapes in the condensation around her bar glass. Pretty fingers, chipped red nail polish, and she looks amenable enough to company – what with being sat alone at a dyke bar at 4 PM on a Sunday.

Tonks shrugs off her jacket and moves closer, settling herself onto the barstool next to her and trying to figure out what she can offer to buy a woman with a near-full drink when the women turns and looks right at Tonks.

And Merlin’s sweet ballsack if it isn’t Ginevra Weasley.

“ _Ginny_?” Tonks asks stupidly.

“Tonks!” Ginny responds, obviously expecting someone very different (and weren’t they both).

“Yeah!” Tonks replies. “I live just there.” She points in the general direction of the flat she shares halftime with her ten-year-old son and tries not to be too obvious as she takes in Ginny’s face. She’s older than the last time Tonks saw her – of course – but she still looks quite young, fresh-faced and sporting mascara and red-tinted lips to match the furious bramble of freckles around her nose.

“Great!” Ginny responds wryly, “I live nowhere near here.” She lifts her glass to ‘cheers’ nothing in particular and then takes a long, _long_ drag of whatever it is she’s drinking. Tonks gets the distinct impression this isn’t her first.

Tonks motions to the barkeep and orders a whiskey for herself and a glass of water for each of them. Ginny doesn’t seem to notice or mind, and is examining Tonks’s profile with a steadfastness Tonks can’t quite place.

“What have you been up to?” Tonks asks, and it’s a tedious question, she realizes, herself strongly resenting when she’s on the other end of it. She’d be happy to do a more bang-up job of catching up with her old friend if she wasn’t straight horny on main – and if Ginny wasn’t staring at her with bright, slightly out-of-focus green eyes. Suddenly something occurs to her, and she looks around the near-empty room. “Is Harry here with you?”

“Does it fucking _look_ like he’s here?” Ginny says with far less bite than she probably intended.

“No.”

“Well, then there’s your answer.”

 _Ah_ , Tonks thinks, an uncomfortable kind of familiarity dawning on her. She couldn’t actually remember the last time she’d seen Ginny – probably at Remus and Sirius’s wedding, which was, _fuck_ , years ago now. She knew Ginny and Harry had had a couple kids, that Ginny had given up her pro Quidditch career to raise them, and a deeper kind of familiarity blooms in her chest. _Woman_ familiarity, it is, a _not what I thought life would look like_ kind of familiarity.

“Sorry,” Ginny sighs, turning back to look at the bar top in front of her. “I don’t mean to be rude. I’d just rather not–”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Tonks responds, remembering how it felt. How it still feels, sometimes. “Hell, we don’t have to talk at all.”

Ginny’s eyes are back on her again, taking in the short, wild hair she can’t seem to keep from graying, no matter how she morphs it. Taking in the shallow wrinkles around her eyes, the three piercings up the side of her ear and the faded tattoo running down her neck, the giant scar that starts at her shoulder, the scar from a battle that changed both their lives. With her _husband_ , she got that scar, and the word tastes sour in her mouth now, like old milk, like pretending, like a thing that never wanted to be there.

And then Ginny is on her, has grabbed her hand and pulled her up and dragged her to the lavatory. It smells of lemons and burning candles, women-tended and small and not a mite bad place to have a fuck in, if that’s where this is headed.

Tonks hasn’t quite processed the possibility yet when Ginny pulls off her shirt, quick and resolute, and brings Tonks’s hand to her breast.

Oh _fuck_ her tits; small and soft and bright pink nipples. Ripe like fruit and just as sweet, she sucks them, sucks the flesh of them right into her mouth, bites at every freckle and mark and then takes the nipple into her mouth too, bites that. Ginny tosses her head back, long red locks falling over her back. She hisses, something that’s both nothing and “yes” all at once. Tonks teases her other nipple with her fingers, pinches and pulls the hardening flesh between her fingertips. She pulls off, wets her fingers and then brings them back, saliva hardening them even more when they hit the cool air.

Nipples babies fed from. Nipples babies bit with new teeth, cooed over by everyone but the mother with sore breasts.

Tonks trails her palms down the sides of Ginny’s belly now, skirting over skin rising with gooseflesh. They stop when they hit denim and then they trail further, hold the globes of Ginny’s ass between them and squeeze and pull, pull her close to Tonks’s own body. Ginny’s thrown off balance, and Tonks uses the momentum to back them both into the wall behind her so that she’s now pinned.

Tonks dips her hand down the front of Ginny’s jeans, doesn’t bother unzipping or unbuttoning because it’s better this way. She likes to feel her hand pinned against the flesh of her partner’s pubic bone, taut against the coarse hair there. She can smell Ginny now, tart and raw, dips her hand lower and lower until she can drag her fingers through the seam of Ginny’s cunt. She dips her fingers inside – into tart, fresh juice – and coats them, dragging them up again until they skirt over Ginny’s clit. She presses, two fingers, presses and holds.

Ginny squeaks, tries to capture Tonks’s lips with her own. Tonks leans back, teasing, and then darts out her tongue to run it over the swell of Ginny’s lower lip. She times it just right, so that at the same time she licks into Ginny’s mouth she slides her middle finger into Ginny’s cunt, crooking it towards her and pressing, again, this time inside.

“Oh _fuck_ , Tonks,” Ginny growls out, grasping Tonks’s shoulders for something to hold onto.

Slowly, Tonks moves. She pulls her middle finger out and then plunges it back in, places the pad of her thumb over Ginny’s clit and circles it slowly, gently, fingers moving in opposite paces and still entirely as one.

“You’re wet for me,” Tonks growls right into Ginny’s ear. “Do you hear that? Hear how wet you are? You’re _soaked_ for me.”

Ginny is getting off on Tonks’s words – trying to ride her palm, using the leverage of her hands on Tonks’s shoulders to spur her on – and, Merlin, Tonks never would have guessed that Ginny’s the type. Then again, she never would have guessed she’d run into Ginny at a dyke bar either.

“You like it when I talk dirty to you?” Tonks asks, encouraged. “Do you like hearing me say filthy things while I fuck your sweet little cunt?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ginny responds breathlessly.

“What is it that you like? You like when I crook my fingers inside you like _this_? Like when I fuck your pussy just right, baby – when I hit that _perfect_ spot inside you?”

Ginny is growing redder now, face flushed and beading with sweat. She nods vigorously into the air, into nothing.

“Or maybe you like my thumb on your clit?” Tonks continues. “Maybe you like me rubbing it against your hard clit – _fuck_ , baby, it’s so swollen for me – like when I press down just right? I feel it getting harder under my fingers, feel how much your pussy responds to me. You want to come, don’t you, baby? You’re getting close?”

“I– _fuck_ yes. Yes.”

Tonks slows her fingers, almost imperceptibly, drawing out Ginny’s desperate little moans and whimpers.

“Your pussy is so tight now,” Tonks continues, and damn if she isn’t soaking through her own panties right now. “So tight around me. You want to come so bad, come around my fingers, your pussy is _aching_ for it. You’re dripping all over my fingers, baby, all over my hand. Do you know how wet you are for me? How wet I am for you?”

Ginny is panting now, grinding herself against Tonks and digging her fingers into the muscle of Tonks’s shoulders and _shaking_.

“P-please,” She moans. “Please, Tonks.”

Tonks has to play this right. Ginny doesn’t want to beg, doesn’t _need_ to beg anymore for the things she wants.

“Shh,” Tonks coos, “Shh, baby. I’m gonna make you come–gonna make you come for me. I’m gonna make it so good for you, gonna make you feel so good, baby. I’m building it up for you, stroking your sweet pussy so steady and slow so you come _so hard_ , baby.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ginny whimpers. She doesn’t have to chase it this time, doesn’t have to worry that it’ll get away from her. Tonks has it. Tonks is holding her orgasm in the palm of her hands, keeping it warm, letting it grow, and she won’t drop it – won’t lose it.

“You make me so wet when I fuck your pussy, baby,” Tonks carries on, high on it herself. “You make me so wet for you.”

That’s the ticket, the key to raising Ginny even higher. Ginny has to be of service, has to give pleasure before she can take it. She’s the only daughter of seven children, the youngest, the girl who was wished so hard into being she never got to manifest her own desires, always the projection of a destiny she never asked to partake in.

“You like fucking me,” Ginny says, not a question but not a statement either.

“ _Fuck yes_ ,” Tonks responds, resoundingly. “I love fucking you – love smelling you, love tasting you. You smell so sweet, baby, and I can’t _wait_ to taste you. When you come around my fingers – I can’t wait to lick them, lick them _clean_ , Ginny _fuck_. I want to drop to the floor _right now_ and lick you, taste you. But not yet, baby – not until you come.”

“I want to come,” Ginny says, nodding, confirming something she is only now recognizing is true, is real. “Please make me come.”

“Are you ready, baby?” Tonks asks, not because she wants to know but because she wants _Ginny_ to know, know she can decide when and how and how many and why.

Ginny just nods, up and down, biting her bottom lip so hard Tonks is worried it might draw blood. Now, she speeds up her middle finger, crooks it more at the first knuckle and pulls less in-and-out and more up-up-up. Now, she rubs small circles around Ginny’s swollen clit, light but firm, making sure there is no dry friction against the most sensitive part of her partner, and there isn’t, only wet, only wet.

But Ginny needs pain, too, needs a little bit of something to push against, something to fight through or she won’t break the wall, make it to the other side, so Tonks dips her head and pulls one of Ginny’s perfect, pink nipples into her mouth. She bites – harder than she wants to, harder than her instinct would have her – and that’s when Ginny _keens_.

“ _Fuck yes_ ,” She nearly screams. “Yes, there, almost…”

And then silence. Ginny arches her back and it pulls against Tonks’s teeth, drags the flesh of baby-bitten nipples out far and far and _perfect_ , sharp and painful and her own choice this time and perfect. Her orgasm starts in her womb, a stirring animal waking, and then grows to her clit, which contracts in and pulls away and _oh_ – pulses and pulses and releases, now, releases around Tonks’s fingers inside her cunt and she clenches around them, keeps them there, and it’s only when the pleasure reaches the tops of her thighs that she makes any noise at all.

“Ahh,” Is what she does say – scream, groan – into the air around them. Loud and perfect and she convulses with it, her whole body now, her shoulders jerking up and away and Tonks just holds her. She pulls Ginny to her chest and holds her there, Ginny’s cunt holding her right back.

Ginny pants in her arms, takes huge, heaving breaths through the come-down of the best orgasm she’s had in – in _years_. Tonks cups her jaw in her free hand, makes Ginny look right at her as she brings the other to her mouth, circling each finger with her tongue and licking Ginny off of her. The sweetest juice, she is – still tart, still raw – and Ginny’s pupils are completely blown as they watch Tonks lap her up, swallowing everything.

And then Tonks pulls her chin to her, and kisses her. Long and deep, making Ginny taste herself on Tonks’s tongue, making her shiver with the intensity of drinking herself in, swallowing herself down.

“Do–do you want me to…” Ginny says, smaller now, when they finally break apart.

“Later,” Tonks responds, smiling. It’s so presumptions, to assume there will be such a thing, but Ginny smiles back at her so presumptions are sometimes right.

“You said you live near here,” Ginny says, suggestively bringing her hand up to trace her fingers over the seam where Tonks’s skin meets her shirt-sleeve.

“I did,” Tonks responds, cupping Ginny’s hand in her own. “Would you like to see it?”

 _Yes_ , Ginny thinks. And then again – _yes_. Pretty word, powerful name for _finally_. “Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title is - if it's not clear - from Billie Eilish's "Therefore I Am". On the off chance you haven't heard it yet, it's [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7kIlNK_pu6k).


End file.
